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Marceline

By ChosenFate88 All Rights Reserved ©

Fantasy / Romance

Blurb

Inspired by Le Fanu's Carmilla. "Her lips were thin and bright red, the same red as her hair, which fell to her mid back. Her eyes were a vivid violet. She watched Chantelle with a curious look in her eye and a hint of warmth, affection. "Who are you?" "A friend." Chantelle pursed her lips. "That's not an answer." "It's all I can give you, love." "Why?" "Because, dear. This is only a dream." She smiled, revealing sharp, pointed teeth. Then everything faded to black.

Act I: Scene I

Chantelle peered over the balcony of her room. It was late into the night, nearing early morning, but she didn’t want to sleep. She would rather enjoy the peaceful nights and sleep well into the day to avoid most of the social calls. Her parents wouldn’t stop her. They passed it off as a part of her ‘affliction’. She hated that word. She wasn’t afflicted with anything. Sure she had been born without much of her right hand or her left leg below the knee, but with her mechanical prosthetics, she could function like anyone else. Of course having the artificial limbs had also required a bit of wiring in her brain, which had its ups and downs. She could process information remarkably fast, though the doctors had said such changes wouldn’t occur, and when she tried to recall something the image came clearly to mind, and she rarely forgot anything. But she also occasionally got overloaded by the information her brain tried to provide, even to the point of passing out and it did her no favors with keeping her emotions in check. Still at least she was alive and well.

Her parents often didn’t see it that way. Her mother would compliment her dark, tightly wound curls and rich brown skin, her plump lips and narrow eyes, her tiny nose, but never her intelligence or physical ability. She would even insist Chantelle wear gloves and long dresses in her presence. Her father tried to act unphased but with only minor success.

In fact, no one treated her like a normal girl. They treated her like she was fragile, suggesting she stay in rather than go out riding with others her age. She was seventeen and yet no boy had been sent to seek her hand, not even one. Her mother would have refused them anyways saying she wasn’t ready, but that didn’t change the fact that none had ever come.

She sighed, peering over the fields. What she would give to have a friend. She would become entirely mechanical if it meant having a friend. But who would want to be friends with a Cyborg?

She turned to her bed, climbing in and pulling the covers over her head. She checked the scarf tied to cover her hair, then closed her eyes willing her mind to quiet. At least being a Cyborg had the benefit of easier control of things like that. Sleep called her gently, offering warmth and escape.

She opened her eyes to find that it wasn’t even light yet. From her bed, she could still see the moon and she doubted it had moved. Had she been asleep only that briefly? She shifted slightly, starting at the weight of something behind her. That something moved putting weight on her waist. She soon noticed it was an arm, far fairer than her own skin.

She moved to pull away, but the figure pulled her close. “Please darling,” a soft, silky, deep, yet feminine voice whispered in her ear, “rest. You’re perfectly safe.”

Chantelle pulled away again and this time, the arms released her. She turned to find herself face to face with another girl. This girl was strikingly pale in the soft moonlight. Her lips were thin and bright red, the same red as her hair, which fell to her mid back. Her eyes were a vivid violet. She watched Chantelle with a curious look in her eye and a hint of warmth, affection. “Who are you?”

“A friend.”

Chantelle pursed her lips. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s all I can give you, love.”

“Why?”

“Because, dear. This is only a dream.” She smiled, revealing sharp, pointed teeth. Then everything faded to black.

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